


Sweatertown

by SevralShips



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Christmas, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9980189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevralShips/pseuds/SevralShips
Summary: It is the first Christmas since Mabel and Dipper graduated from their respective colleges, but post-grad life has been treating them a little differently. With Dipper working his dream job far away on the East Coast and their relationship up in the air, Mabel has a lot to mull over while she knits a Christmas sweater.





	

 

 

 _The only problem with knitting,_ Mabel thought to herself, as the needles pulled the indifferent yarn,  _Is it leaves too much wiggle room for thoughts and junk._

She sat cross-legged on her bed, the fleecey purple comforter bundled around her against the house’s drafty chill. Only her hands stuck out, knitting at a furious pace. The house was silent and empty, and the only sound was the needles clinking together. The sound expanded and seemed louder in the quiet vacuum of Mabel’s thoughts. Perhaps the quiet was more noticeable, as this year she didn’t have on the customary Christmas music. She’d tried, but shut it off in frustration after only a couple songs. Normally, Mabel was all about the Christmas music. No sooner were the Thanksgiving leftovers finished than she had the Christmas music playing. But this year was different.

 _This year, Dipper wasn’t here for Turkey Day,_  she considered, telling herself that that was the reason, knowing it wasn’t. This year, the joy just seemed like an act, the poetry dated, the whole tradition twisted. There was an artifice to it all that she had never noticed. Suddenly it all seemed… well, stupid. _Fake_. Why bring a tree into your house? Weirder still, why keep a fake tree in your attic to pretend is a real tree once a year? And Santa and elves and reindeer were enough to make her sick. Most of it was just about buying stuff and playing out meaningless traditions and pretending really hard to seem happier than you were. This Christmas was just different. Try as she might, there was no Christmas cheer to be found.

 _Dipper will be home soon,_ she reminded herself, in a desperate attempt to dig up some holiday excitement, but even that couldn’t cheer her. In fact, she found herself dreading his arrival. It had been months since the twins were in a room together. Not since before he moved out in September. Thinking about their goodbye made Mabel feel strange. The way they’d made love silently in her bed, before Mom and Dad were up. The quiet car ride to the airport. The wordless sibling hug he’d given her when they dropped him off. She was certain they had exchanged words that day, ‘I love you’s and ‘goodbye’s. But it was like someone hit the mute button whenever she thought about it. All she’d heard that morning was what was unsaid,  _what does this mean for us?_

 _Well, I got my answer,_  she thought a little bitterly, pulling a few stitches too tight. She took a deep breath and put down the needles to loosen them with her fingers.  _He didn’t do anything wrong,_  she told herself for the millionth time,  _we didn’t say things were gonna change, and they haven’t._  Mabel could tell herself that all she wanted, she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

In a way, it was just like it had been for years. The flirting, the banter, the naughty texts. The occasional middle-of-the-night phone call when life got to be too heavy or dirty texts weren’t enough and they needed to hear each other’s labored breathing across the miles. But more than not, things between them felt different. After all, college semesters were only so long, these separations had lasted no more than three months at a time. So there was always a short countdown, a feasible wait, until the next time they could explode against each other. A short wait until they’d be back under their parents’ roof, exchanging grateful hungry reunion kisses and manic grins.

But this wait wasn’t short, it was indefinite. Dipper wasn’t away for a semester, he had  _moved_  away. To the opposite side of the country. Away from easy, frequent, explosive reunions. Away from Thanksgivings and Halloweens together.  _Away from me._ And after he’d gotten the job offer, things had gone into a frenzy. Finding an apartment, finding a roommate, deciding what to pack, what to buy. Mabel had happily helped, ever eager to be there for her brother to lean on. She’d humored his lists, his all-night apartment-hunting, the donate-pack-leave-behind triage piles in his room. When it had gotten to be too much, she’d taken his hands or climbed into his lap or pulled him to the bed, serving as a more than willing distraction. But every moment she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the moment he’d pull a deep breath in through his nose and say “hey Mabes, we need to talk”. But he didn’t. And every chance he got that he didn’t take, Mabel felt more and more certain that she was being placed in the  _leave behind_  pile.

 _Don’t be such a drama llama, Mabes,_ she scolded herself.  _He wasn’t leaving you. It wasn’t about you at all. He was doing what he had to do for himself._  Mabel had reminded herself a million times that this was for Dipper’s well-being, which was the dearest thing to her heart. But again and again she found herself wondering,  _why couldn’t his well-being need me a teensy bit more?_  She looked down at the sweater taking shape in her hands. Her thumb gently stroked the mistletoe pattern stitched painstakingly into the front, the delicate white berries and green oval leaves a pleasant contrast to the berry red background. Mistletoe had seemed appropriate. She thought fondly of the sprig of mistletoe Mom always innocently hung at the foot of the stairs, the three years of stolen kisses. It had become a bit of a habit for the twins to aim to pass each other on the stairs, Dipper coming down with a box of ornaments from the attic, Mabel heading up to change the bedding in the guest room, a quick meeting of the lips and playful over-the-shoulder smile, with Mom and Dad in the kitchen none the wiser.

Mabel frowned down at the sweater.  _Who knows what in the hoopla it’ll be like this year,_ she wondered, her hands going back to work, steadily making her way towards the hem.  _Everything’s changed!_ Her thoughts wailed, her desperation silent but deafening.  _Everything’s changed and I can’t keep up!_  But a sickening certainty simmered in the back of her mind, hissing in her ear,  _Nothing has changed except youuuu._

“Maybe I  _have_  changed,” Mabel muttered to herself. She stopped her knitting, staring down at the knitting needles in her hands.Her eyes absentmindedly followed the nail polish across her fingers, red-green-red-green-red, green-red-green-red-green. She’d painted them a few days before, on the 20th, with the precision of many years of slumber parties. Mabel put down the needles and regarded her hands, noting that four days later, the nail polish remained unchipped.  _That was totes not the deal in ye olde school days,_ she scoffed, her amusement curdling instantly. She had majored in Studio Art, and that had meant not-so-pretty hands. When she had painted her nails (which was rarely) they had seldom made it through a day unchipped, to say nothing of the broken nails, xacto knife cuts, ink- and paint-stained cuticles, and the particles of charcoal and clay dust that remained embedded in the ridges of her fingerprints, no matter how thoroughly she washed. It had only been about seven months since graduation, and yet her hands practically looked photoshopped they were so manicured.  _So I have beautiful hands, what’s the big whoop,_ she tried to convince the judgmental voice in her head, but it remained unswayed.  _Only idle hands are beautiful. What kind of artist are you?_  It bullied,  _What was the last time you even picked up a pencil, huh?_

“Shut up, you stupid buttface!” Mabel spat, her voice sounding small and stupid in her empty room in the empty house.  _I don’t know,_ she admitted to herself. She didn’t know the last time she’d picked up a pencil, even to doodle. She didn’t know what kind of artist that made her.

 _Not an artist,_  the voice pointed out eagerly,  _You wasted all that tuition money, all those professors’ time, all those hours._ The voice tutted its tongue,  _Between you and Dipper, everyone always knew which one of you would succeed._

Mabel couldn’t even tell the voice to cram it this time. It was true, cold hard fact. Dipper was in New York, writing for his favorite cryptid ‘zine, interning at museums, and posting pictures of himself on Bookface with his arm around the waist of his very nerdy, very pretty, very female field partner. He was finding less and less time to call Mabel, less and less need for her comfort when the nights were long, less and less need to hear her panting and moaning his name. Regardless of whether that was a product of someone nerdier, prettier, and closer than her taking her place, or just a result of his busy exciting life, there was no denying that he was succeeding where Mabel consistently failed.

She had worked off and on since graduation, menial service jobs that always ended with her being asked nicely to trade her key for her last paycheck. Mom and Dad were helpful at first, insisting that so many jobs and people were just too bland to handle their daughter’s colorful personality. The first couple times it had made Mabel feel better, but at this point she was beginning to wonder what the word ‘colorful’ actually even meant. To employers it meant impulsive, irresponsible, bad at fitting in. To Mom and Dad it meant not asking her to pay rent, being careful not to speak  _too_  excitedly about Dipper’s success. And to Dipper?  _To Dipper, it meant I wasn’t even worth consulting, worth considering, worth taking the trouble to just break up with._

 _You can’t break up if you were never together,_  the voice interjected, as if that would make her feel any better. Mabel groaned, stabbing the knitting needles into the ball of berry-colored yarn with a little too much zeal.  _Of course he can’t dump you, ya stupid-head,_  Mabel chided herself,  _you were never worth girlfriend-ing in the first place!_ Mabel knew their relationship had to be a covert one,  _duh_ , but all at once over three years of doubt piled onto her. They had said ‘I love you’ a zillion times, but they had never talked about what the heck any of it meant. They’d always said it, they were twins.  _Did it ever become different? Did it ever mean something else? Am I just the gimongous doof that never realized it was only sex, and nothing more?_  Her hands were shaking too much to knit now, but she found herself wishing she still had the needles to hold onto, the strand of red yarn the only thing tying her to art, to who she’d defined herself as.  _Am I even an artist if I don’t art? Was I ever an artist? Was I ever gonna do anything but fail?_

Without thinking about it, Mabel was doing the only thing she could do. Legs stiff from sitting cross-legged for too long, hands shaking violently, Mabel did the only thing that had ever helped when the blues hit her like a freight train. The unfinished sweater was going over her head in an instant, her knees squished inside, snug against her chest. As she repositioned herself, she felt her foot bump the ball of yarn, knocking it to the floor, tugging slightly where it was still attached to the sweater in which she now hid. With her face tucked into the darkness of the sweater and the nook between her knees, it was finally safe to let the tears flow freely.

So lost was she in Sweatertown that she only distantly heard the slamming of car doors and trunk, the voices in the driveway, the keys turning in the front door. It wasn’t until they entered the house, and Dipper’s voice was fully audible, and  _so close_ , that Mabel began to stir from her pity-party. Contradicting feelings warred inside her. While on the one hand, Dipper’s sudden proximity filled her with the sunshiney-cotton-candy glee of loving reunion,on the other hand it made her feel the need to sink deeper still into the black hole of herself.  _I can’t face him,_  she thought desperately,  _I don’t want him to see me like this, some welcome committee me and my issues will be!_  But they were coming up the stairs, all three of them.

“We’ve got loads more catching up to do tomorrow, kiddo,” Dad was saying, and Mabel thought she heard him clap Dipper on the back, “But it’s about time I hit the hay.”

“It’s so good to have you home, sweetheart,” Mom said, in her kissing-on-the-cheek voice.

“It’s good to be home, Mom, really,” Dipper said, his voice a little sheepish. Hearing his voice so close sent a shiver down Mabel’s hunched over spine.

“Hm, no Christmas music blasting from Mabey’s room,” Dad observed, “Maybe she went to sleep.”

“It’s rather early for her, dear,” Mom pointed out, and quieter to Dipper (although it was still effortless for Mabel to hear), “Why don’t you check on her, Dip? I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you home.”

“Y-yeah,” Dipper said, trying to sound casual, “Yeah, I think I will. You guys get to bed.” Mabel waited with baited breath, hearing more kisses and hugs and ‘goodnight’s exchanged. Mabel waited and listened, as Dipper waited, for the sound of their parents’ bedroom door clicking shut. And then her door was swinging open and her stomach was churning as Dipper’s soft but excited voice announced, “Honey! I’m home!”. No sooner did the words leave his mouth than they soured in the air as he took in the scene before him, “Oh no, sweatertown,” he said knowingly, the sympathy in his voice making Mabel cringe in her sweater cave.

In an instant he was by her side, his weight shifting the tension of the mattress, his arm going round her shoulders, “Mabes, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” Mabel gave a nonverbal groan in response, “Aw, Mabel, c’mon.” He rubbed her back, comfortingly, “Talk to me, babe. What’s up?” Mabel shrugged. “Mabel, please.” Dipper pleaded, his voice taking on a hint of urgency.

“‘M’fine,” Mabel grumbled stubbornly.

“Pssh, try again,” Dipper said, unswayed, “Sweatertown is no place to go when you’re fine.”

“Leave me alone!” Mabel snapped, her voice coming out sharper than she intended.

“Mabes,” Dipper said, the worry thick in his voice now, “Please talk to me.”

Mabel sighed inside Sweatertown, the heat of her breath damp against her bare legs for an instant before dissipating, “‘M’glad you’re home safe,” she grumbled, unconvincingly, trying to smooth over some of the damage that may have been done by the harshness of her voice moments before.

“Uh, thanks,” Dipper said, unsure. They fell into silence and the moment stretched uneasily before he asked, “Are you mad that I came back…?”

“No,” Mabel said instantly, unable to bear the questioning tone of his voice. She was mad at him for a number of things, but coming back for Christmas was definitely not one of them, “No, I’m happy you’re back. Dip, I really am happy you’re back,” she insisted.

“Could you please look at me, Mabes?” Dipper begged, “I’ve spent the last three months going nuts missing seeing your eyes and I’d really like to, um, see them.”

Bracing herself for the emotional overhaul of seeing her brother, Mabel peeked over the turtleneck of the sweater. No amount of bracing herself could have done the trick, though. There he was, right beside her, arm around her, and suddenly everything inside her was going all gooey and confused. His hair was shorter than she was used to, and her heart leapt with joy to see his birthmark out in the open. She’d always hated that he’d chosen to conceal one of the many things that made him so wonderfully unique. His face was drawn with anxiety, fearful and bewildered, but as always when her eyes met his, some butterflies woke up from their hibernation in her stomach. At meeting her eyes at last, some of the tension in his expression relaxed and he gave her that sweet reassuring smile that her days had been missing. Suddenly Mabel found herself feeling bashful and absolutely ridiculous for being in such a state for his return, “Hiya Dipdop,” she said quietly.

“Hiya, Mabes,” Dipper said, his smile widening a little, “Will you please tell me what’s up?”

“Everything’s a mess,” Mabel said, shoulders slumping, tearing her eyes from Dipper’s.

“Uh-huh…?” Dipper said, urging her to go on.

“I’m a failure,” Mabel explained, hating how pathetic it sounded.

“A failu–? Mabes, no you’re not!” Dipper gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. Mabel nodded her head resolutely, even though the sweater still covered her face from the cheekbones down, “Mabel, you’re twenty-two,” He said in a wry tone, “Even if you’re  _gonna_  be a failure, it’s still too soon to tell.”

“Gee, thanks a lot, bro,” Mabel huffed, in no mood for his attempt at levity.

“Sorry, sorry,” He said, backtracking, “All I mean is there’s no shame in not having it all figured out. It doesn’t make you a failure. Not at all.”

“Easy for you to say,” Mabel griped, “ _You_  have it all figured out.” She sank a little deeper into Sweatertown.

Dipper laughed, “Seriously, Mabes? You think  _I_ have it all figured out?!” he laughed again, “I don’t have the first idea what I’m doing!”

“You’re just saying that,” Mabel insisted, shaking her head, “You’re doing what you love, you’re living on your own, I mean, just for starters, you’re not letting yourself get hung up on your sister–”

“Whoa-whoa-whoa,  _what?_ ” Mabel chanced a look back at Dipper’s eyes, to find a horrified, uncomprehending look, “You lost me.”

“You’re not hung up on me, Dipper! Which is good!” She blurted out, flapping the ends of the sweater sleeves a little for emphasis, “I’m your sister, I get it! It was just a wacko phase or whatever! Fine! It’s better that you should be goin’ after normal not-your-sister lady-things anyhow!”

“Mabel,  _what_  are you talking about?” Dipper moved so that he was in front of her, looking at her head on, “What makes you think I’m going after  _anyone?_ ”

“It’s the  _global information age,_  you dorkus,” Mabel said defensively, rolling her eyes to avoid her brother’s steady gaze, “I see the pictures of you two all the time!”

“Wait, you mean  _Cynthia?_ ” Dipper burst out laughing, “We  _work_  together, Mabes! Please don’t tell me you’re getting all jealous and paranoid about my coworker!”

“Some people sleep with their coworkers, Dipstick!” Mabel insisted, freeing her face from the sweater to speak more easily, “Some people fall in love with their coworkers!”

The incredulity on Dipper’s face shifted as he began to grasp the seriousness of Mabel’s doubts, “Mabes, I’m not in love with Cynthia. I’m in love with you.”

Dipper had never said that to her before. She’d often imagined it, but, in fact, although they had been behaving more or less like a couple for a few years now, Mabel had never heard those words from Dipper’s mouth. She’d always imagined, based on all the love stories she had seen and read, that hearing it would fill her with joy, with bliss, with a sense of fulfillment. As it turned out, it only made her mad. Blood boiling, she immediately snapped, “Oh, shut up!”

“Wha–? Mabel?” Dipper was struggling to keep up with her moods, “What the hell?”

“You’re not in love with me,” Mabel said, freeing her legs from the sweater to scoot back against the wall, putting about another foot between her and Dipper, “You’re not in love with me, so don’t say it!”

“Of- _of course,_  I’m in love with you, Mabes!”

“You’re  _not!_ ” Mabel’s voice grew somewhat shrill before she brought herself back to a quieter tone, by great force of will, “If you were in love with me,  _you never would have left!_ ”

Instead of earning an instant rebuttal as Mabel’s other accusations had, this last hung in the air between them. It echoed for a moment, its meaning settling devastatingly onto Dipper’s face, “Mabel…” he said softly, his voice stung. The tears were gathering in Mabel’s eyes again and she swiped at them impatiently with the end of the sleeve, “Mabel, is that what this is about?”

Mabel shrugged, “‘S’bout a lotta stuff, bro-bro.”

“Mabel, I didn’t want to leave you,” Dipper insisted, his tone heartfelt, “I swear, I did not want to leave you. I have been cursing myself every day since I left for going away from you.” Mabel shook her head, “No, really. Mabel, I swear.”

“Why wouldjoo miss me when you got so much swanky stuff goin’ on?” Mabel grumped.

“Swanky stuff?” Dipper laughed drily, “Mabel, I dunno what you think I’ve been doing, but I assure you it’s not swanky.” Mabel shot Dipper an unconvinced look and he nodded rapidly, “No seriously. Interning is bullshit, running around doing all the work and not seeing a cent. And for the zine, I just muck around in upstate New York, in the cold, staking out cryptids no one’s even heard of and never seeing anything. We’re newbies so we never get any good assignments or the chance to travel or anything like that. ‘Nd I’m with a partner I have nothing in common with! Cynthia’s fine, but I swear I spend the whole time wishing she was you.” Mabel raised an eyebrow, “Not in like a love or sex way, just like, ya know… she’s no Mystery Twin.”

Mabel couldn’t resist a little smile at that, but it only flitted across her lips for a moment, “If it’s so lame, why’dya never complain about it? Why didja stop talking to me as much?”

Dip scratched his nose, “To be honest with you, Mabes, I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Dipper shrugged, “You would never put up with that. If you weren’t happy, you’d have been outta there in a second. And everyone thinks I’m doing some cool thing,” It was Dipper’s turn to frown, “I didn’t want to disappoint them. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Dipdop, you dweeb,” Mabel jabbed his shoulder with her index finger, “You shouldn’t worry about that junk. I’m always proud of my nerd.”

He smiled at her sheepishly, “I love you, Mabes. I’m proud of you, too.”

Somehow, hearing that he was proud of her hurt her heart.  _Not possible,_  the jerk voice in her head reminded,  _there’s nothing to be proud of_. She shook her head again, picking at the mistletoe pattern on the front of her sweater, looking down at it to avoid his eyes.

“I really do love you, Mabel,” Dipper said gently, scooting closer to her, closing the small distance between them on the bed, “I really am  _in_  love with you. And it’s not a phase or anything. I can’t believe I made you think that… I’m sorry.”

Mabel’s heart twinged, always wanting to forgive her brother right away for any transgression. Nothing was worth staying mad at her best friend as far as she was concerned. But she couldn’t this time, “Dipper…” she forced herself to meet his eyes, “If you love me… why do we never talk?”

“Mabel, I know I call less than I used to,” Dipper defended himself, “But we still talk all the time.”

“Nonono, that’s not what I mean,” Mabel corrected, “I mean, when we first started doing this, then all through college, then with you moving to New York… we never talked about any of it. If we were in love, if I was your girlfriend, if we were staying together, if we could see other people.” Mabel crossed her arms, “It’s not fair to expect me to know what in the hoo-ha we’re doing when you’ve never breathed a stinkin’ word of it.”

Dipper shifted guiltily, looking away from Mabel’s eyes, down at the red strand that attached her to the ball on the floor like a ball and chain, “It is unfair. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Mabel repeated.

“I… to be honest, Mabes, I was scared.” He cautiously met her eyes again, “I’ve loved you and wanted you for so long, and when suddenly you were sorta mine…Jeez, babe, do you have  _any_  idea how terrified I have been every day for like three years that I was going to fuck it up?” He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous tic from years of having a longer ‘do, “It was, it  _is_ , like a dream come true. I  _knew_  we should talk about that stuff, everyone’s heard a million times how communication is like the crux of relationships but like…” Dipper searched her eyes, his face soft with love and fear, “It was like a dream, and I was scared if I said something, if I drew attention to the problems or the reality of it… I was scared I’d wake up. Or worse, I’d wake you up.”

“Dipper…” Mabel said, feeling the forgiveness threatening to overflow. She uncrossed her arms, reaching over to lay a hand on Dipper’s knee, “I’m not a dream, dummy. I’m your sister. And, just sayin’,  I also think I’m your girlfriend.”

He gave her a boyish grin, “Yeah? I’d really like for you to be my girlfriend.”

“Okay then, boyfriend,” Mabel teased, leaning closer to him, a smile widening on her face, “That’s a good start.”

“A good start, huh?” Dipper teased back, mirroring her grin, his eyes flitting down to her lips every few seconds.

“Yeppers, a good  _start_ ,” Mabel had to admit, his lips did look pretty inviting, “We still got a lot to figure out.”

“Sounds awesome,” Dipper was hardly able to drag his gaze from her lips long enough to meet her eyes, “I can’t wait to talk about everything in the world with you, girlfriend. But first,” he reached towards her, his fingers toying with the unfinished hem of her sweater, “I need to show you how much I  _love_  this new sweater.”

Mabel giggled as his fingers brushed against the skin of her tummy, where her tee shirt had ridden up during her stay in Sweatertown, “I hoped the mistletoe would point you in the right direction, boyfriend.”

“Heh, noted, girlfriend,” Dipper said, his lips finally coming to meet hers. The touch of his skin, the taste of him, was electrifying after so much time apart and Mabel responded instantly with a happy squeak. She leaned eagerly into the kiss, her body suddenly remembering how hungry she was for his touch. He interrupted the kiss for a moment, just long enough to peel the sweater off of her, dropping it on the floor to join the discarded ball of yarn. Mabel melted instantly into the delicious familiarity of Dipper’s body above her, his lips thanking hers and apologizing with every kiss.

“I’m in love with you too,” she murmured into his mouth, inspiring him to pull her closer. Mabel knew things weren’t fixed, but she was sure that there was nothing she couldn’t figure out with Dipper, and their love, on her side.

 

 


End file.
